Page 53 of I Think He Knows
“Who was on the phone?” I ask, and then immediately pause. It’s a question I’d never usually think twice about asking, but now that we’re “engaged”, do we need to give each other privacy in certain areas? What if he was on the phone with another woman? I have no idea how fake-engaged-to-your-best-friend-you’re-secretly-in-love-with etiquette works.
Before my thoughts can spiral too far, Carter saves me by answering, “Anthony. Well, Elena and then Anthony.”
“At midnight?” I frown.
Carter crosses the kitchen and stands right in front of me. There’s six inches of space between our chests, but every millimeter is electric. “They want to throw us an engagement party.”
My breath catches in my throat. “Is that a… normal thing for your manager and assistant to do?”
Carter’s blue eyes darken as he worries his lower lip with his teeth. “Not really,” he admits, his expression pinched. “But nothing Anthony and Elena ever do is normal.”
“Oh,” is all I can manage get out. I was anticipating having to meet people at some point, make a few public appearances where I can be a total wallflower whilst indulging my inner fan-girl, like at the premiere. But I never expected to be the center of attention at a star-studded party. Anxiety does not even begin to cover what the introvert in me is feeling right now.
Carter’s steady eyes study me and I offer him a wan smile. “Wasn’t tonight our engagement party?” I joke hopefully.
He smiles back at me. “I’m not sure too much paparazzi action was happening, unless you count Mindy’s half-drunken selfies.”
“I do not,” I reply.
“The idea for this one is to do an official bash. Get some famous bodies in one place and get them talking and posting. Elena offered to organize it all and even have it at my house here in Atlanta so it’s not too much of a disturbance for your schedule. But I can tell them you’re busy next weekend, find an excuse—”
“What on earth am I going to wear?” I interrupt him hurriedly. Because of course we’re doing this. We have an agreement and I intend to hold up my end of the bargain. Mildly crippling anxiety or not.
Carter’s concerned expression fades as he laughs and shakes his head. “Anthony’s on it. He’ll bring over a few wardrobe options on the day. You’ll just have to pick the one you like best.”
I gape at him. “You set that up for me?”
He taps me on the shoulder and smirks, blue eyes dancing. “For me, really. I didn’t want to spend any more time sitting in dress stores.”
“Fair.” I smile up at him, my heart beating a million miles a minute. This sweet, thoughtful man, I tell you. “And thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Like I said, it was mostly selfish. Now, are we watchingGilmore Girlsor what?”
“You don’t want to get home?”
“I’m still pretty wired from this evening, so I’m up for hanging out for a bit, but I can order an Uber if you’re tired. I had a few drinks so I shouldn’t drive.” His dimple pops as he grins at me. “Don’t want your good friend McCreary to pull me over.”
“You can stay over, if you like.” The words pour out of my mouth before I can think them, and the second they do, I wish I could scoop them all up and shove them right back where they belong. “Um… because it would look good for our story if the paparazzi catch you leaving my house tomorrow, wouldn’t it?”
He raises his brows. “It would. But I’ll probably have to kiss you goodbye on the front porch to get the full effect for the media.”
He’s messing with me, I know he is. But I feel my entire head go red at the thought of his mouth on mine.
“We didn’t discuss the physical stuff, did we?” I yelp. “How are we going to make people believe we’re together if we don’t even kiss?”
Carter takes a small step towards me. Those six inches between us become three. Two. One. He’s right in front of me now. So close, his scent—woodsy and clean laundry, tonight layered with a hint of barbecue smoke—surrounds me in such an intoxicating way I can’t help but breathe in.
He trains his eyes on mine. “We don’t have to kiss. We can do lots of other things to make it look believable between us.”
“L-like?” I stutter.
“Like this.” He reaches out and smoothes a warm palm down my arm. Even through the sweatshirt, I feel his heat. I gulp.
“And this.” His hand moves, traveling up to my shoulder and around to tangle in my hair, anchoring at the base of my neck. It’s all I can do not to squeak aloud.
“And, of course, this.” His hand is on the move again, and I’m dizzy and short of breath and sure I am way, way, way too red and flustered for him not to know what’s currently going on in my body. He gently runs the back of his index finger along my jawline, and this time, it’s impossible to hide my shiver.
When I dare look at him, his eyes are boring down at me, a little hazy and dark. “Lan…” he starts, his voice gravely, his fingertips still possessively on my jaw. Man, this guy can act. It is an act, right?